Musings From the Middle

Hoarding

Hoarding produces spoilage.

Succulent garden fresh vegetables lose their life-force merely by sitting.  Food is meant to be consumed when harvested.

Ideas are meant to be acted upon when hatched.

Guidance speaks in the Now and is hushed by Later.

Ignoring or saving for a more convenient time or hoarding from a lack mentality all spoil the fruit, the gift of harvest.

When vegetables are combined with our own essence (eg. Prepared and consumed or  better yet consumed raw) growth occurs.  When left for later, the juices dissipate, the essence is lost, and our life is a tiny bit less…a lost opportunity, an ignored possibility.

Oh, to be open to consuming the juices, the ideas, the growth, the opportunity, the Guidance, the possibility, the ripe fruit of Now.


If I Were a Fairy

If I were a fairy, I would

no longer have any heaviness of body.  I would instantly do what my mind or spirit desired…or maybe because I’d be more spirit, my mind would not get in the way so much.  But my body would be lighter and more cooperative.

If I were a fairy, I would no longer care what others thought above my own knowing.  I would be a good fairy, but I would not deny my orneriness, my playfulness, my curiosity, my creativity.

If I were a fairy, I would understand reality.  I would know it’s all a game; it’s all a state of mind.  I would understand that it’s all up to me.   ….and I would make it fun!

If I were a fairy, I would scatter fairy dust where anyone was stuck in heartache.  Not all heartache and sadness, just when it was time…and I would know.

If I were a fairy, I would play with Mother Nature and her babies every day.  I would bask beneath Father Sky rain and shine.

If I were a fairy, I would invite people to come and play with me.  And if they said no, I’d ask again another time.

If I were a fairy, I would say “WOW” a lot.  (That means “gratitude” in ‘people’ lingo).

If I were a fairy, I would not even think about love. I would just BE love.

If I were a fairy.


Meeting Mary Oliver

She reminds me of Katherine Hepburn. Strong. Independent. Private. Passionately dedicated to her art.

She reminds me of Mother Theresa.  Refusing to engage in promotion of problems.  Living for the lovely.

She reminds me of Creation herself.  Exquisite observation of and attention to detail.  The parables of nature calling forth questions.

She reminds me of the raw spirited women in my writing circles.  No depths uncharted.

She reminds me of me.


The Hurdle

Does the athlete, as he runs approaching the hurdle, view it as an evil thing?  Is he angry at it?  Does he see the bar as the enemy?  Does he tell stories about its defiance of him? Does he use his precious energy telling others of his plight to get over the accursed bar? Does he seek to make contact with the bar to let it know ‘who is boss’?

Or….does he see himself in communion with the bar, visualizing his dance of flight over the bar?

People and events come into our lives for us to dance with.  Some, many, are hurdles.  We try to fly over, make contact, and the bar falls to the ground.  We put the bar back up and try again…and again until our skills are perfected and we soar.

We no longer need to engage in drama.  Why would we want to pick up the hurdle bar, fuss at it and tell it how wrong it is?  We honor the bar that helps us to fly high.  We give gratitude to the experience that beckoned us to call forth the inner strength and beauty that is us.

Not all encounters are meant to be team runs handing off the baton. Some are hurdles, meant to show us we can fly.


Engagement

 

I have just committed to the biggest boldest leap off the cliff of my lifetime.

Some will barely notice the ripple of it.

Some will not notice at all.

The paper heart carrying Tin Man found his own tenderness.  The hero’s medal gracing the neck of the Cowardly Lion placebo-ed him into the courage he’d always been.  The Straw Man’s knowing was to be had all along.  They all came together to get Dorothy back to Kansas.

My courage, heart, and brains have boldly come together.  Each has poked her head out the hidey hole now and again…never for long and never simultaneously.  Now they have unified to bring me home.

I have lept.  I will fly or die.  I have no intention of dying.

I have been back in Kansas for a while. 

Now I know why.

Some will barely notice the ripple of it.

Some will not notice at all.


Lists

 

Lists of things to do

Not lists of things I don’t have done

Lists of things that feed

  My body

  My vision

  My soul

Lists living into the future

Not lists of condemnation and guilt from the past

Lists of possibilities

Lists of opportunities

Not lists of should

Bucket lists, dream lists, vision lists

Action lists, passion lists

Not hope lists, maybe someday lists

Juicy lists, drippy I can’t wait lists

I can’t wait to get up in the morning to start my day lists

Artist date lists

How can I share my joy, my me with somebody else today lists

How can I give back lists

How can I honor Mother Earth and Father Sky lists

Gratitude lists of community

Gratitude lists for challenging, even fearful opportunities

Gratitude lists of simple pleasures

Lists of gratitude lists

They are all gratitude lists

and so it is


These Are My Children

My children and grandchildren have a heart for others, expect the best in others.

My children fight/speak/care for and honor the children.

My children call me, their mother, to be and do my best.

Adrian is making artful smart enduring functional homes for people.  He questions and questions and questions and stands firmly by his knowing.  He has a wicked sense of humor.  Fadder Joe even thinks so.

Jarad is counseling farmers and rancher in the care of their stock.  He is teaching them that a man’s word and a handshake still mean something.  He is busting through his fears and insecurities to build a solid family with and for his wife and children.  He has encouraged his children to play and taught them to play well.

Julie is helping teachers teach, students question, individual students believe in themselves.  She is redefining “family” successfully.  She is guiding a brilliant creative child in a safe and playful environment.

Jamie is mothering independent questioning creative loving children…in her home and in her work. She is breaking traditional moulds.  She is standing on her own, through skinned knees with little support; yet she stands…and laughs with them.

These are my children.


Hank

Three weeks today since I’ve written here.

My baby brother died.  He died on Christmas Eve.  “Awww”, you say.  And the guilt comes at the final acceptance that I dare to make it about me.  Yet it is about me…again.  It is still and always about me.

Hank is gone.  That is, his physical presence is gone from this particular life.  His spirit is alive and well; I have no doubts; we’ve talked.

I could eulogize him here.  I could tell you about his childlike sweetness and total lack of guile.  I could tell you how much I wish I’d called him every time I was in his town and didn’t.  I could tell you how I wish I’d listened better when he spoke.  I could tell you how I wish I’d made more effort to invite him to my home.

Or I could tell you about our conversations since Christmas Eve.   I could tell you just and only what I want you to hear… the nice stuff.  I could choose to just tell you the nice stuff.

It has been my habit, by cultural and parental training, to just talk about nice stuff. ..until I either explode at someone inappropriately or just hide so no one sees me angry, hurt, sad, lost, in pain…mostly I hide.

Today I am out of my hidey-hole bringing the anger, sadness, loss, and pain with me.  I bring these very real emotions to the light of day.  I bring them to you the reader not to be fixed, but to be acknowledged.   Like the cat bringing her kill for you to see.  She isn’t asking you to change the state of the dead bird.   She is sharing with you her ‘catness’.   I am sharing with you my humanness.

That’s all.  And it is enough.


For Today

I watched a marathon of an old TV show “What about Bryan”.  My indulgence in it was purely antiseptic and akin to a drug induced coma.  I had something to sort out; it was painful; I hid.

I was desperate.  I had already watched all the good stuff.  The writing in the show was shallow, the dialogue pure cliché.  They even had to bring in clips of James Garner in the “Notebook” for any semblance of emotional depth.  But I kept watching lest the numbness disappear, the tears and fears surface again.

I kept watching past the deepening irritation of the repeated phrase, “What are ya’ doin’ here?”  This banality read as long fingernails across the chalkboard, insulting my literary sensibilities.  Again and again, every show, several times per show.  Finally it became all I heard.  But I kept watching.

This morning I awoke with the gift.  I awoke from my self-induced coma, not still hearing, but finally listening…..“What are ya’ doin’ here?”

Ahhh, the Universe!  She works in mysterious ways, even when we try so hard not to listen.  Because what Source is listening to is the deep cry of our hearts, past the chatter, past the pain, past the fear.  And Grace responds.

Today is the day of equalization. Day and night no longer contest one another for dominance.          For today.


Enjoy

Enjoy

In joy

Act I’ve

Joy is a state

Enjoy is an action

…to invite joy

…to engage in joy

…to decide to be joyous

…to choose joy over a lesser vibration

Often said, “——brings me joy”.   e.g. Playing with Quintin, my youngest grandson,  brings me joy.

What if I brought myself joy?  What if I was the Source of my own joy?  What if I could play alone in joy?  What if I could capture the feeling of looking into Q’s eyes on my very own?  What if what I saw in Q’s eyes was a reflection of me, my soul?  What if his pure innocence, his loving acceptance, his joy was calling to that very essence of myself?  What if engagement with Q required the setting aside of the mind, the ego, the fearful judgmental ‘adult’?  What if Q simply called out to the child in me?  …asking, “come play with me”…


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